


Causatum

by Ilovecats



Category: Doctor Strange (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, Marvel Secret Wars Battleworlds, New Avengers (Comics)
Genre: "I died but I got better", 2 Stephens - Stephen & Other Stephen, Brief nudity but nothing sexual or graphic, Gen, Stephen-centric, as it is with comics, characters in order of appearance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-05-02 10:43:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19197199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ilovecats/pseuds/Ilovecats
Summary: The Illuminati and Doctor Doom thought that everything was over after the Fantastic Four recreated the universe, wiping everyone's memory. But skeletons rarely stay in their closets, and they will soon have to face the consequences of their actions, whether they're ready or not.Note: I edited the first two chapters because I accidentally left out a secret surprise tool that will help us later. Not very much though, the gist is still the same





	1. Ingrata

**Author's Note:**

> Write what you wanna read, no?
> 
> Also, trying to juggle all these characters simultaneously was actual hell and not the "easy writing exercise" I was looking for, and I apologize sincerely if your favorite character didn't get enough love :(
> 
> And I suddenly understand why people like Betas. No matter how many times I went through my work again, I always found something wrong with it. So, yeah, if you see any problems, like continuity errors or whatever, please correct me!
> 
> Vaguely set in "current" times. the FF are back, Doom is slightly evil again, Stephen's back from space and magical, Current Defenders: Luke Cage, Jessica Jones, Iron Fist ... daredevil maybe?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That moment when you reread your notes and realize that you accidentally changed something that needs to happen for it to make more sense. It's not necessary, really, it just explains character's actions better. All that's really being changed, for Chapters 1 & 2, is that Stephen (regular Stephen, not Other Stephen) knows a little bit about what's going on in the beginning and that the Defenders find out basically nothing
> 
> In order of appearance: Doctor Strange, Reed Richards, T'Challa, Danny Rand, Luke Cage, Jessica Jones, Matt Murdock, Valeria Richards, Bats the Ghost Dog, Other Doctor Strange, Doctor Doom

Doctor Strange glanced at the assorted heroes assembled on the shabby rooftop. They—or rather, he, Reed, and T’Challa—had detected a powerful source of mystical, extradimensional power emanating from a massive storm circling New York City, whose centre was located approximately 1.2 miles directly above them.

“Stephen?” Daniel asked, edging closer to him, only removed from the latest batch of Defenders by a couple of feet. Behind him stood Luke Cage, Jessica Jones, and Daredevil—although his ‘Christian’ name was Matthew Murdock, his secret identity was still supposed to be...well...secret—looking onwards with blatant curiosity.

The sorcerer could only assume that the King of Wakanda and Mr. Fantastic held a similar pertinent interest, although they were located beyond the edge of his range of vision. Stephen began to open his mouth in response, before—

“The storm is putting off massive amounts of unknown energy, as well as dimensional—a bit of chronal, actually, too—dad, are you seeing this?” Valeria Richards asked, impertinently tugging on her father’s arm, her eyes widening almost comically after she noticed some interesting point of data.

Reed stretched his neck over to his daughter, and briefly scanned her findings. He frowned, glancing over at Stephen, almost nervously, and then looking back.

“I don’t recognize the dimension, or the magic. I think it’s dark, black magic, but nothing I’ve seen before, so I’m not quite sure. But it is producing impressively high levels of arcane feedback,” Stephen admitted, shrugging blithely in an effort to loosen his nerves. Something about this situation was off...he felt as though he should be more worried than he was. That he was being watched.  _ Something wicked this way comes _ , and all that.

“So what you’re saying is that you have no idea,” scoffed Jessica Jones, and if Stephen wasn’t already adjusted to her prickly, snappish attitude, his response would have been much harsher than a grim smirk and another reluctant admission.

“No, I don’t.”

 

* * *

 

It had been only a little bit after mid-afternoon tea—Stephen thought, anyways, given that the absence of clocks and...Wong...in the Sanctum Sanctorum made time more difficult to discern than it had been a year ago—when a pounding headache suddenly ripped its fierce claws along the base of his skull and gripped the front, squeezing with no regard for the delicate organ in between.

_ Hoary Hosts of Hoggoth, that hurt.  _ His nostrils flared and his quivering hands braced the kitchen table as a shaky breath eased him out of the pain, and the Sorcerer Supreme quickly stood and rushed to the Orb of Agamotto. 

_ Tension headache, caused by tightened muscles in the back of the neck and scalp, generally because of stress or poor posture.  _ Of course, Stephen tended to get them for entirely different reasons, mainly whenever some mystical or cosmic threat made itself known in the ambient aether.

It turned out that the anticipated danger was much closer than Stephen had initially imagined. Technically, it was even right above his house, since it covered New York City entirely like a malcontent blanket.

“Huh,” he briefly vocalized, wondering as to how such an omnipresent threat had gone unnoticed. Bats the basset hound huffed beside him, pale green body curled up on a (formerly) cursed sofa. He wasn’t quite sure why a ghost dog needed to sleep, but it could easily just be force of habit. Thankfully, the doctor’s voice hadn’t wrested Bats from his slumber, and he reinforced that by soundlessly exiting the Sanctum, and, after a quick invisibility incantation, he rose above Greenwich Village’s rooftops and immediately noticed the pulsating thunderstorm.

The Eye of Agamotto, situated snugly on his brow, revealed rays and shocks of violet and emerald green twisting through the ebony clouds, intertwined with the very storm itself. Most likely causing it, even. Stephen quickly flew—low to the skyline, of course, no need to get struck by lightning or hit by a flying machine—to the part of the weather the Orb had revealed to be the epicenter of the squall: Hell’s Kitchen.

Hell’s Kitchen, also known as Clinton, or Midtown West, was a neighborhood located in Manhattan notorious for high poverty and crime rates. It had a history of gangs and was rumored to be menaced by the Kingpin. Still, there were good people in it. And why it was the focus of a powerful mystical storm, Stephen had no idea, but that’s what he was flying through it to find out.

While levitating through the downpour, a flash of bright red caught his attention in the gray of the gale. Peering closer, Stephen spotted a man in a red, skin-tight outfit with horns.

“Hello, Matthew,” the sorcerer greeted the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, perched on a wide windowsill. Said Devil merely nodded in his direction. Suddenly, Stephen remembered that he was invisible -- before remembering that Matthew was also, in fact, blind, and couldn’t see him anyways. And given that he had only obscured his  _ visual _ presence, Daredevil could use his radar sense to spot him just fine.

“Strange!—Stephen. I assume this storm is somehow magical? Someone hocus-pocus-ed it up?” Daredevil’s attempt at levity came across to the sorcerer as a cross between amusing and cavalier, but he simply ignored it, prioritizing his mission.

“ _ That  _ is exactly what I intend to find out. Sorry, can’t stay for much of a social call, I have to—you know.” The sorcerer waved his hand in the air dismissively, and the blind lawyer smiled; a small, wry little thing.

“I do, actually _,_ and I _might_ _even_ be able to help. I may not know much about magic, or be able to do much about it, but if something’s going to go down...” The final words were left unspoken, and Stephen felt a twinge of guilt in his gut. Matthew was in a similar line of work that he was. He knew the risks, and he certainly knew how to be a valued asset, even if the particulars might go over his head.

“I don’t know if there is going to be a fight. Or if there is, that it’s even going to be in this plane of existence. But I could possibly appreciate someone to watch my back?” He offered as a gesture of peace. Whatever, Matthew probably didn’t care, but it made him feel better. Daredevil merely gave him a thumbs up in response, rain flicking off his slick costume.

The unlikely duo—but how unlikely was a summoner and a devil?—quickly followed an urgent route to their desired location. However, they weren’t the first ones there. Spread out over the lofty summit of  _ Josie’s Bar,  _ was the Black Panther, the Defenders, Reed Richards, and Valeria.

 

* * *

 

Stephen noticed Reed cast his gaze purposefully over at him, catching his eye.  “I’d—ah—like to talk to you for a moment? I think I recognize the energy—”

Suddenly, a swift crack of lightning separated the looming clouds directly above them, a deadly lavender, stunning the group into silence. Thunder rumbled ominously, and the wind began to pick up, swirling around. The sorcerer readied a Shield of the Seraphim for dispatch, muttering the verbal and gesturing the somatic pieces of the spell.

Around him, Luke Cage cracked his knuckles, Jessica Jones whipped out her fists—Iron Fist brandishing his own, enlightened one—Daredevil readying his baton (although the booming thunder seemed to unsettle his pose), the Black Panther taking out his claws, and Reed enlarging (or, as a younger Pakistani American would say, Embiggening). Stephen couldn’t see Valeria, but he assumed that she was making similar battle preparations—or, at least, finding a safe place to spectate from.

For a few moments, nothing happened. He could hear the clenching and unclenching of strong grips—something the ex-surgeon wondered was speculatory longing for his old levels of manual dexterity, before dismissing it—and harsh, bated breath. The magic seemed to swell, before pausing.  _ Stopping? No, preparing _ .  _ For what? _

The swollen, black velvet clouds and the eerily luminescent swathes of emerald and amethyst— _ me and Daniel are probably the only ones who can see those colors, anyways,  _ since they were the only mystical heroes _ — _ began to spiral downwards, towards them, descending upon the assembled heroes like the sword of Damocles.

Doctor Strange opened his third eye, aided by the Eye of Agamotto, and realized—it was a  _ portal _ .

The pillar alit on the ground, looking like a black-light tornado, and Stephen deployed the waiting Shield of the Seraphim against the arcs of fog produced from the collision. It was, likely, a minor byproduct, but ‘better safe than sorry’.

He made the Shield transparent once the immediate threat dissipated into the ether, although he anticipated further opposition.  _ I’ll keep it up, though. Just in case. _

The fallen cloud began to blacken, plunging from charcoal to something even darker. The static luminosity faded back into the interior of the column, almost as though it was retreating.

“It’s a portal, something’s about to come through!” Stephen shouted his realization breathlessly, but the whipping wind cascaded down around everyone’s ears. All they—well, except for Matthew, undoubtedly—could hear was noise.

 There wasn’t enough time to stop it from entering his realm—especially since he wasn’t familiar with the dimension or the magic. It was uncanny and embarrassing: he was the Sorcerer Supreme!

But the tenebrous, turbid tornado was already dispersing, and in its center, stood a man. Stark naked, and raggedly bearded.

Already, the sunlight had begun shafting through the storm already, clearing it away like arrows through an obfuscating curtain. Blinking, the visitor stared out with an impregnable gaze at the gathered guardians of Earth. 

Fixing narrowed eyes on some point past Stephen, he murmured a few syllables of a primordial tongue that stood all of Stephen’s hairs on end. Clothes, seemingly pulled from the air, formed around him. He wore a black tunic with a golden design and a cloak, as well as glossy boots and gloves.

The doctor would have assumed it was a summoning or illusion spell if not for the fact that he didn’t recognize it at all.

But he did recognize the man...because it was  _ himself. _

“Uh...is this a joke? ‘Cause, not funny,” Luke laughed stiltedly, shattering the silent stillness.

“Yeah, didn’t need to see that, doc,” Daniel added, and Jessica snorted.

“You’re all a bunch of children.”

“...Sheriff?” T’Challa breathed, starting towards the Other Stephen, who tilted his head. The Black Panther halted, and Stephen’s double finally spoke.

“I used to be ‘Stephen’ to you,” he said quietly, like he was telling a secret. 

“I—we—did it,” Reed said quickly, gesturing to his daughter behind him. Valeria looked like she either wanted to hide behind her scanning contraption or hit the Other Stephen (Sheriff?) in the head with it. Repeatedly.

“ _ You  _ did it? After...I thought it would be you. I should’ve thought it sooner. Instead of trusting Victor.”

“How are you alive?” A sonorous, metallic voice demanded from right behind Stephen, causing him to jump. He glanced, and spotted—Victor von Doom? It seemed that today held all sorts of juicy surprises for him. Reed started at his sudden appearance, but Valeria grabbed his arm and whispered something in his ear that Stephen couldn’t detect. Whatever it was, it seemed to calm her father down.

But it didn’t surprise the doctor as much as it should have, that Victor had managed to sneak around the assembled heroes without them noticing. While there were others who were better at either the mystic arts or the technological ones (like him, Reed, and Valeria) than the Latverian monarch, Victor was one of the only beings who excelled at  _ both _ .

“The Ankh of Life. It was gifted to me by Eternity, and essentially grants immortality.” The Other Stephen replied frigidly, _and_ _okay—what?_

“Also, the sole property of the Sorcerer Supreme,” Doctor Strange asserted vigorously, the Cloak of Levitation flapping dramatically. Not his own doing, this time, since the lively gusts from before hadn’t died down entirely yet. Well, maybe partially his doing. But by the Demons of Denak, he wasn’t being left out of this conversation, and if theatrics gave him attention, so be it.

“Right,” the Other Stephen frowned at him, like he was trying to read a particularly incomprehensible set of tea leaves.

“My replacement.”

“%&#$, can someone just tell me what the hell’s going on?” Jessica shouted, in her particular vulgar style. Next to her, Luke Cage crossed his arms in support of his wife.

“No.” Was the curt, and simultaneous, response from T’Challa and Doom. They glared at each other.

“Reed? Stephen...s?” Daniel asked. 

“I don’t...is he from...the universe before ours? The one that existed before you recreated ours, the one where Victor was god?” Stephen asked Reed, pursing his lips in concentration.

He had, a couple months ago, detected immense waves of cosmic energy in deep space and gone to investigate. He had discovered the Fantastic Four and the Future Foundation—coincidence or not; how they both abbreviated to ‘FF’?—designing entire universes. He had questioned Reed, but the answers he received were dubiously cryptic. ‘The universe died a year ago,’ they told him, ‘and so we’re rebuilding it.’ He managed to discover that Doctor Doom had been involved, and so he had interrogated his other friend as well. The Latverian monarch had been even more obtuse than Reed, but he had discovered vital information. Namely, that universe after universe had begun to collide with one another, the focal point being Earth. Eventually, the multiverse had been destroyed, but Victor had received omnipotence and used it to create another universe, until Reed and his son replaced it with the current universe.

“How much did you tell him?!” T’Challa growled, turning to Reed and taking a step towards him, blocking Stephen’s view of the scientist.

“Would someone mind telling  _ us _ ?!” Luke rumbled ominously. At this point, all of the Defenders were looking pretty agitated. The Sorcerer Supreme realized that all of them were probably well-acquainted with sentiments of disoriented bewilderment when dealing with magic or cosmic situations—well, Danny probably less so with magic, and maybe not Daredevil since he briefly became the All-Seeing Guardian of the Bifrost in Heimdall’s place—and not very happy to be feeling said sentiments again.

“This does not pertain to you,” Victor sneered, metallic bass echoing portentously. “We must take our leave of these ignorants.” Opening a panel on his silver gauntlet, he pushed a miniature button, casting his gaze at the assembled heroes, minus the Defenders.

“What—” Stephen began to question, before solemn, occult chanting and a bright light filled his vision, blinding him.


	2. Illuminatus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: the events surrounding Secret Wars (2015) New Avengers (2013) are actual hell to understand ... forgive (and correct) me if I mess anything up!
> 
> Also, I'm going to be gone for a month without WiFi, so that is why a chapter will not be posted in that interim.
> 
> In order of appearance: Doctor Strange, T'Challa, Minor OC, Doctor Doom, Reed Richards, Other Doctor Strange, Valeria Richards, Bats the Ghost Dog

He gasped, but air couldn’t quite come through quick enough. His throat felt assuredly solid, but oxygen seemed remarkably absent from the gas he was pulling into his lungs. Choking, he saw expansive, formless white...a white wall...a white office, with the Wakandan flag and traditional African-patterned tapestries, and a woman—dark skin, close-cropped hair, light makeup, and wearing an official-looking hybrid between a suit and a shuka—who quickly got up from the desk with an expression of utter disbelief and a hint of annoyance.

_ Were we...teleported?  _ It felt significantly more disorienting than Stephen was used to—although he  _ did _ typically ‘teleport’ under his own power. He wondered if that was how any cohorts of his felt when he used a translocational spell (whether it be intraplanar or interdimensional).

“King T’Challa! It is an honor!” She said hastily, bowing.  “But who are your companions...?” Stephen noticed that Victor, Reed, the Other Stephen, and Valeria stood nearby, some of them looking significantly more ruffled than others. He also noticed that the woman seemed to eye Victor rather suspiciously.  _ Latveria and Wakanda had had a dispute not too long ago, hadn’t they?  _ Again with the vague dates. He wasn’t very good at time in any context, apparently.

“Greetings, Naserian. They do not concern you. Please take your leave of us, and do not speak of what you have seen here.” Naserian quickly bowed again and left. The moment she closed the door, T’Challa sighed heavily, removing his cat-eared mask and placing his palms against the desk, bending over it and leaning slightly: The posture of a man reunited with a burden he had hoped to never again shoulder.

“You sent us to the Wakandan Embassy,” Reed said slowly, stretching his arms minutely.  “Why?”

 

“I could not transport all of us away from the others with only the energy in my armor a far distance, and the Wakandan Embassy seemed a more...strategic location than my own,” Doom explained enigmatically, before pausing to affix Stephen with a vehement gaze.  “You are not supposed to be here.”

“Yes, he is,” the Other Stephen corrected, “I sensed that you were about to teleport us here and I decided to include my replacement in your machine’s range. I hope that’s not too much trouble?” He spoke almost off-handedly, but the inflexible, unyielding set to his eyes swiftly put an end to any intentions otherwise.  _ Why does he want me here?  _

“Where are the Defenders? And...what—what happened, precisely? With the other universes?” Stephen demanded, swallowing a lump of nervousness down his throat. Nerves would do him no good. Unlike their former companions, he was used to knowing what was going on in significant situations like this. It bode ill.

“I left them on that roof, where did you think they went?” Doom replied contemptuously. Stephen tried not to take it personally. It was just Victor’s way of speaking to others.

“Well,” the Other Stephen began, “it all started with the Incursions. In order to deal with the oncoming annihilation...in a clandestine manner, T’Challa reformed the Illuminati. However, despite our best efforts, the universe was destroyed, and like a phoenix from the ashes...rose Battleworld.  _ Victor  _ here,” and he seemed to inject the name with as much venom as possible, “was its ruler, and I his right hand. We tried to banish all remnants from the prior multiverse, but when Reed and a few others—like T’Challa here—arrived, he tried to kill them. I prevented him from doing so, and he killed  _ me,  _ instead. Reed then recreated the old universe and erased all events that led to the Incursions, thus averting the whole disaster altogether.”

“The Beyonder—do you remember him? He was present during the ‘Secret Wars’,” Reed began.

“Yes, I remember him,” Stephen replied. The two had met—right before the aforementioned Secret Wars, and later when Stephen was part of the Illuminati. Both of which...had been very unsettling experiences. Part of the job of being Sorcerer Supreme meant he often came into contact with cosmic beings, whose power made them unto gods, but the Beyonder’s callous nature, and willingness to use his reality-warping abilities had been extremely disquieting.

“He is from an entire race of Beyonders, who decided to destroy the multiverse as part of an ‘experiment’. They created the Molecule Man—Owen Reece—across all the dimensions and used an alternate version of him to eliminate an entire universe. This caused the rest of the multiverse to collide along a focal point: Earth. Those collisions were called Incursions. Think of it as being like Newton’s Cradle.

“Eventually, one of the Earth’s began to collide with our own, but it was exploded by an...ally of Victor’s. T’Challa was the sole witness, and he reformed the Illuminati. He invited me, Tony, Steve—Captain, Black Bolt, Namor,” Stephen couldn’t help notice T’Challa wrinkle his nose in disgust at the avenging son’s name, “and...you—well, him,” Reed pointed at the Other Stephen. The Sheriff.

“We used the Infinity Gauntlet to push away one alternate Earth, but the gems were destroyed. Doctor Strange erased the Captain’s memory—of these events, solely—when he disagreed with hypothetical alternate methods. After that...we built bombs, and invited Bruce and Hank—the real McCoy, not Pym—to help. But Steve remembered, and declared us enemies of the Avengers. Eventually, the last two Earths were set to collide, one of them...ours. I—” ‘we’, he corrected himself, after Valeria elbowed him, “—built a life raft that could survive the end of the universe, and a group of us survived, only to wake up eight years later, in Battleworld.”

“And no one knows,” Stephen whispered, dazed. That kind of secret...it tickled the back of his mind like a many-legged centipede, crawling up his spine—lumbar to thoracic to cervical—and shook shivers into all the distant, discarded memories, dredging up the things of nightmares.

The sort of secret a Sorcerer Supreme would guard. He already had collected several, after all.

“Except for us,” retorted T’Challa gravely, rising from his inclined position. Stephen noted that everyone looked as though they held the weight of the universe on their shoulders.  _ Heavy is the head that wears the crown. _

“And so it must remain!” Doom huffed.

“We six are the only ones that remember Battleworld, and the Incursions. Only we know of the old Stephen—the  _ real  _ Stephen—‘s existence. If word were to get out...I recall what occurred the first time Captain Rogers recollected what the Illuminati had done in privy. Surely we would not wish another repeat?” The others in the room shuddered, minus the Stephens. He wondered what specifically had occurred that would traumatize his companions so.

Victor’s spoken plea was akin to having the word ‘Reality’ scorched across his forehead in hot iron. A stinging wakeup call.  _ After all they had been through together...no.  _ After all he and the ‘real Stephen’ had been through together, of course Victor would pick  _ him _ . Stephen had merely existed for a year, since Doom’s Battleworld had been replaced. But he had memories from beyond then—which obviously extended further than what Reed and his fellow inventors knew of one (or two) Doctor Stephen V. Strange. Had his own, recreated psyche simply filled in the blanks? He would have to corroborate his data with the Other Stephen. Find out how much of them was the same, and how much was different. 

“The Future Foundation knows. Really, Uncle Victor, I can’t believe you’d forget us,” Valeria commented; half tease, half valid complaint. She crossed her arms across her chest, and raised an eyebrow.

“They do not know about Stephen. They do not know about what happened before Battleworld,” Doom replied, in a soft...almost fond tone he hadn’t heard from the monarch before. Ah, well. Even villains (as loathe as he was to apply that label to Victor) needed somebody to love.

“True,” Valeria admitted, pursing her lips. It seemed she had something else she wanted to say, but she stayed silent.

“Do we all agree? Do we swear ourselves to secrecy?” Reed exhaled steadily, purposefully, his brow furrowed. He raised his right hand—and Stephen was reminded of the time when Anthony had first proposed the idea of the Illuminati to them, and T’Challa had refused.

But here, he agreed. And so did everyone else. Except Stephen.

“But why would you tell me?” He asked ponderously.

“If it it such a secret, why would you reveal it to me?”

“Because I trust you,” the Other Stephen replied, expression betraying no emotion. “And because you knew just enough that not telling you the rest would only end in catastrophe. We are the same person. And there are no other twins. There are no others...who were recreated, while their prior self still existed.” The Sheriff blinked at Reed, who made an assenting motion.

 

And Stephen, albeit reluctantly, agreed.  
  


* * *

 

“Where is Wong?” Was the first question asked when the Other Stephen arrived at the Sanctum. The—well, Illuminati was as good as any name for the covert gathering they counted themselves among, especially considering its members—Illuminati had agreed that the Sheriff would stay with Stephen in the meantime, and each of them would spend a week introducing him to the new universe. After that, Stephen wasn’t sure what would happen...would the Other Stephen merely assist him in his duties as Sorcerer Supreme? Would he...try to reclaim his title? Stephen, quite frankly, wasn’t sure he’d win.

The second question asked was from Bats. “Oh, no. This again. One of ya ain’t Casey, yeah?” He tilted his saggy, jowl-y jaws in inquiry.

The Sheriff swung his head over at Stephen in alarm. “The Sanctum is haunted!”

“It’s always been haunted,” he raised his eyebrows at his double. Was this one of the potential differences between them? One Stephen remembered a haunted Sanctum, the other did not? But the Other Stephen simply wrinkled his nose in frustration. 

“Yes, I  _ know that _ , but there is an actual, fully-materialized  _ ghost dog _ in the Sanctum!”

He almost chuckled in response, before the Other Stephen started to prepare an exorcism spell.  _ Vishanti help me. _

“No!” He shouted, stepping in front of his loyal basset hound. He’d already had another Sorcerer Supreme vanquish his dog, and he wasn’t about to let it happen again.

“This is Bats. He’s...my friend. The only one left,” Stephen conceded, rubbing his elbow awkwardly. The blue tunic felt itchy against his skin. Must be time to wash it again. He was always forgetting, since he usually just used an illusion to change on the fly, and especially since—

“Wong is dead?” Was the concerned reply. The Sheriff’s eyes widened and he grabbed against a stand (home to a secured Star of Capistan) to...steady himself? Anchor his emotions?

“No! No, he just...moved away. Disapproved of decisions I made, I guess, and didn’t want to be a part of it.”  _ Also, he’s in hell now, but it’s okay because Johnny Blaze is king there and I still have to get him out...but...I’m been awfully busy in the meantime. I just haven’t...haven’t gotten the chance yet. _

“What did you do?”

“I accepted a student named Zelma Stanton, and did so without her consent, to save her life.”

“And where is she?” The Other Stephen pursed his lips, visibly calming—or, at least, appearing less agitated.

“Also...moved away. I bound the Exile of Singhsoon to her soul, and she found out. And was, understandably, upset with me.” Over the years, he had attached that spell to the immortal spirits of his close allies, to prevent himself from ever using it and risk tearing apart his friend’s essences. A magic that could draw  _ all  _ the mystical energies of an entire dimension into oneself? Its usage was unthinkable—but clearly possible, as demonstrated by Loki, when they had stolen the title of Sorcerer Supreme from the doctor and utilized the Exile of Singhsoon. Indeed, it was likely that such a powerful spell was only a one-time use, like the Montesi Formula. Maybe it was for the better.

Somewhere in there, there was a lesson about his job getting in between him and the people he loved. But he was tired of learning it. His job—as the Sorcerer Supreme—was too vital to the continuation and stability of his dimension. That was why Clea had left him, too. Well, most of the reason why. He had been divided between his duties as a man, and his duties as a sorcerer, and the sorcerer won. For once, he’d like it if someone stayed...but that wasn’t the matter at hand.  _ He  _ was.

“Ah.” The Other Stephen replied, yawning. “Sorry, I—reconstituting myself from the atoms of a decimated pocket universe and transporting myself across dimensions into this one, and the excitement afterwards, with the Illuminati...has taken quite a bit out of me.”

“So, uh, Doc...who’s yer twin?” Asked a hesitant voice from behind his leg. Stephen peeked around and beheld Bats. Looking back up at the Other Stephen, he noticed him looking over, almost as though asking permission to explain his predicament.

Bats wouldn’t tell. Not if Stephen asked. But...he had been sworn to secrecy.  _ They  _ had been sworn to secrecy. He couldn’t…

“This is, ah, also Stephen...he’s a refugee from an alternate universe. Do you remember the storm earlier? That was him.” He explained hurriedly, waving his arms in obtuse gestures. Completely ungraceful—the opposite of spellcasting. Bats studied him for a moment, as though he were looking for something. Seemingly satisfied, Bats nodded thoughtfully and trotted away, humming the tune to a song. Johnny Cash, Stephen believed.

“An odd dog,” the Other Stephen commented, yawning again. This time he was leaning against the wall, fur-lined cape crinkling comically against the tan plaster. Stephen realized that he was still waiting for permission.  _ Oh! Right! Sleeping. Bedrooms.  _ The two of them very well couldn’t share.

“You can take the guest bedroom. None of them are being used.” The Sheriff tilted his chin in acknowledgment and sluggishly made his way up the stairs. Stephen watched him go, feelings of dread continuing to well up. Questions and curiousity burned at the back of his mind, a terrible thirst left unquenched, but that could be dealt with later. If his time with the Defenders had taught him anything, it was that patience and understanding was crucial when dealing with more... _ independent _ personalities. Of which Stephen—both of them, presumably—counted themselves among. But how well did he really know his double?


End file.
